


When Humanity Became Heaven

by CastielRiordain (DeanRiordain)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels torturing Castiel, Blood and Torture, Castiel is in Love with Humanity, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean defending Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Heaven, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Mark of Cain, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRiordain/pseuds/CastielRiordain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you love someone, you don't give up on them. You sacrifice everything you are, and everything you wanted for them. Sometimes, that backfires; but, Castiel would never give Dean up to the angels- he still believes in him, Mark of Cain or not.<br/>Note: This is a mini-fic that will probably go on to be a larger piece of work, later. There's violence, language and fluff (how can you not have fluff with Destiel?). If torture is a trigger, I advise against reading it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Humanity Became Heaven

It wasn't unusual, anymore, to hear screams in heaven. The angels were determined that under some fucked-up sense of justice, that they would reclaim heaven...to whatever end. They had fallen in their greed and injustice by far more than Castiel had with his kindness and his good.  
That empathy and kind heart did not keep Cas out of heaven's grasp. For while most angels lacked any empathy, Hannah had tasted her own dose of humanity. Where Castiel was kind, she had become full of jealousy, and anger for the fate that had befallen her. Heaven needed her. She came back. Why hadn't he come back with her? Well, the answer was the same as it always was, really.  
Humanity.  
And by humanity, namely: Dean Winchester.  
“Where is Dean Winchester!?” One of his 'brothers' cracked a whip, and Castiel whimpered. But they could be doing so much worse. So very much worse.  
The graceless angel dangled from the ceiling by a pair of handcuffs- his feet barely touching the ground, where he was shackled. His prized trench coat lay in shreds in one corner of the room, with a very bloody button up shirt and blue tie. They'd been modest enough to leave his pants intact, but from the torture of the past few days, they too, were covered in blood- both dried, and fresh.  
Half of his face was bruised, purple and mottled, and one of his beautiful blue eyes was swollen shut. His body was covered in cuts and burns, whip lashes, and stabbings. Not even heaven's first prisoners had been treated this cruelly.  
His crime was simple: He had not destroyed Dean Winchester. He had allowed him to escape the angels' wrath, carrying with him the First Blade, and the Mark of Cain. And worse- after all of these years, they had finally seen what had kept Castiel out of heaven, and off the front lines where he was needed. He'd given his heart to Dean Winchester, protecting him and his brother as though they outweighed the word of God himself- the code of the angels. They could not see what he saw: Dean's pure heart and good intentions. They could not see or share the love that God himself found in these beautiful creatures he called 'humans'. They were above feelings. They did not understand. They couldn't be expected to. And so Castiel forgave his brothers, even as they tried to beat his humanity out of him, and siphon his Grace. He was a traitor to them. And he understood.  
Castiel shook his head, “Kushiel...” he gasped, his voice harsh from the severity of his state, “I have not told you what you ask since you brought me here, brother. I will not begin now.”  
“That's brave, Castiel,” the angel Kushiel smiled, wiping Castiel's blood from the whip and letting it drip to the floor, “But, we'll see about that.” He nodded, and another of their 'brothers', Muriel, grabbed Castiel's angel blade from the table. Castiel groaned. Not that. Anything but that.  
“Where is he, Castiel?”  
Cas shook his head, stopping only as the blade pierced flesh, causing the dim blue light of his grace to show, and inhuman screams to fall from his lips as tears fell down his cheeks.  
The torturer Muriel got carried away, stabbing the blade into Castiel's shoulder as his entire body convulsed. Kushiel didn't seem concerned, “Where IS HE, Castiel!?”  
“I will not betray him, I lo-” his words turned into a hiss as the blade carved a path down his arm. He was beginning to get worried at the carelessness. One major organ, or artery, and he would be dead- a death that he couldn't come back from....a blackness where he could never reach Dean or Sam, a blackness where the Mark of Cain would destroy his loved one. “I love him,” he finished, spitting out blood at his brother's feet.  
“You don't understand these humans and their simplistic little minds, and yet, you're willing to die for one. Worse! A demon, Castiel. Whatever he was before, he is less now.”  
“I will NEVER betray Dean,” Castiel repeated. These were truths he kept telling himself through the torture. They tried to take it away, to replace the memories of Dean with his missteps, and the Mark of Cain.  
But they didn't know how good his arms felt. How easily the smell of his cologne mingling with his deodorant could ease Castiel's mind. They didn't know that when he called him 'baby', nothing else in the world- in Heaven or in Hell- mattered. They couldn't know. And they couldn't take it.  
“We'll see about that. You've become so much like those abominations that it's only a matter of time before you confess...betrayal is human nature, Castiel.”  
“Funny, I think it's become the other way around, brother.” Castiel snapped back. “When have we become this? Are we not grace- mercy? Are we not meant to l-”  
“What you feel for Dean Winchester is an abomination, Castiel.”  
“What I feel for Dean is pure, and strong!”  
“We'll see about that, Castiel. We'll see how long you last. Are you willing to die for him? Where is he, brother, this /man/,” he spat the word like venom, like mankind were no more than a cockroach upon heaven, “Is he here, willing to die for you?”  
Castiel did not answer, and Kushiel smiled, turning away, “You will tell us where you are hiding him, Castiel...his location. You'll tell us, or you will die. And he will as well. There is no escape.” He nodded, and Muriel replaced the angel blade with a branding iron, bearing a large cross. It had been heated in holy fire, and tainted again. He touched it to Castiel's chest and the screams echoed throughout heaven.  
“No,” Kushiel said, “Not good enough. He needs to think. To cause him so much pain that he would lose sight of himself won't do. You have a lot to think about Castiel, perhaps more lashes will change your mind.”  
His body quaked, wanting to give out on him...but he was still there, held up by chains...chains chafing and peeling the skin on his wrists.  
The whip Muriel chose bore nails...and it was thick, but versatile. He looked to Kushiel for instruction.  
“Forty. No,” he frowned, “Best to make it fifty.”  
Muriel wasted no time. /Crack/.  
Castiel screamed.  
/Crack/.  
Another, and another. /Three/...that was a piece of his flesh. The pain made him want to die.  
“Stop,” Kushiel ordered as Castiel dangled, attempting to slump to the floor. “Just because I'm feeling generous, Castiel. Are you ready to speak?”  
Castiel shook from head to toe, tears pouring from his face uncontrollably from the pain as he spit out more blood. It took seconds. “...Never.”  
“As you were,” Kushiel turned, walking out of the cell, leaving Castiel alone.  
/Four. Five. Six./  
With each lash, the room filled with Castiel's screams. Soon, a chorus joined him- varying pitches of screams that made Castiel wish he could hold his ears, but Muriel didn't stop...maybe he couldn't hear. Each of the accompanying octaves of screams drowned out quickly- more quickly each time Castiel screamed himself hoarse in the horrific opera.  
“38-” Muriel growled, “39-.”  
It was getting dark again. He couldn't tell them anything if he'd wanted to.  
Muriel's voice faded in and out, like he was far away, “Tell us WHERE he IS, Castiel.”  
“I'm right here.” Castiel's heart jolted at the sound of Dean's voice. Why couldn't he see him?  
He was a sight, carrying the head of Kushiel, which he dropped to the ground, letting it roll across, even as Muriel's body glowed golden, the angel blade Dean had stolen, killing him almost immediately- but not without purpose. Dean wouldn't have been satisfied if Muriel hadn't screamed louder than Cas.  
As he'd made his way here, he'd followed the horrifying sounds of his beloved's screams- the demon within him making vengeance too easy, but not cauterizing the pain in his heart to know where those sounds were coming from- that he was the reason behind them. The demon thought the man was pathetic....and the man....he needed the demon too much to think about anything else.  
The Mark of Cain had swollen on Dean's arm, trying to snuff out his humanity, and take the chance to decimate heaven. But Dean was a hunter, and a fighter...trying desperately to pull himself out of the bloodlust that was consuming him more with each kill. His eyes were no longer bright, and full of soul. They were glazed over, trancelike, the Mark working to take even that bit of humanity and turn it dark.  
Another guard turned on Dean, thinking that using a whip from a distance would make him safe. Foolish. No one was safe from the Mark. The whip connected, tearing holes in Dean's t-shirt, and spattering blood droplets against the wall.  
Dean liked that shirt. He never used to, but it was one of those stupid ones he'd gotten at a Zeppelin concert that Cas had worn to bed too many times. One that smelled like the perfect combination of them both. One he never wore in public, only to bed, until yet again- Castiel had come into his life, changing things. He needed this shirt. He needed it in tact. Needed it to remind him what it was to be human, even as it was slipping away.  
The next time he spoke, it was the same words, directed at Castiel instead, “I'm here, baby.”  
His darkening eyes flickered back to the angel who had dared assault him, “That was your last mistake,” he growled, “Your first was when any of you sons of bitches presumed to lay your hands on what is mine.”  
The words were true, beautifully so...but Dean was only half-man, half himself...all for the sake of saving Castiel.  
Kushiel had been wrong. Dean would die for Castiel, over and over. But this was worse. He was becoming the monster that Sam feared, the monster that couldn't stop- all for the sake of saving him. Self-sacrifice knew no bounds. He ripped the whip away from the angel, pulling it almost too easily from his grasp.  
Dean smelled fear as the angel pulled out a blade, and footsteps came to a halt in the doorway, surrounding him with four of them. This one was a female...and Dean felt jealousy....always looking out for /her/. The one who had presumed she could steal him, “He was ours before he was yours. He was one of us until you defiled him and cast him out of heaven with your lies. It's over- if you'd valued your life you wouldn't have come, demon.”  
He never did value his life. But Castiel's....was a different story entirely. Dean's gaze narrowed, “I'm no demon.” He said the words to reassure himself, more than to reassure them....as if he could will them to be true, just by speaking them. “Now, are you just going to stand there?” he ran across the room so hard he was nearly out of breath as he used stolen keys to release Cas into a heap on the floor, and he stood protectively over him, “Because I'm sure as hell not walking away without him.”  
“Oh, you won't be going anywhere,” one of the angels spoke as Castiel clutched desperately onto the hem of Dean's pant-leg.  
“You'll pay for your crimes against heaven, Dean Winchester- against God.”  
Dean flashed that classic Dean Winchester smile, some symbiance of his humanity still in tact, “My crimes against heaven,” he repeated with his arms open, “/My/ crimes against heaven. You don't look at this as a crime,” He gestured to his baby, broken on the floor, “You say he was yours. Is this how you treat yours? Nah, don't bother. I know the answer. And that's why he is mine. Why he was always mine.”  
He twirled an angel blade in between his fingertips, “Now, as for my crimes against you sons of bitches. Well, you'll have to tell me which one bothers you the most. Is it the Mark of Cain? My impure blood? My humanity? Or...” and the smirk came back, “Is it just that you can't stand the thought of how Castiel screams my name like a goddamn holy prayer every night as I fuck him senseless. You see, to be honest, I've lost track of my sins. But I enjoyed them. Every. Single. One. You pretentious fucks.” He spoke the words slowly, letting them be the dagger sinking into their flesh.  
Silence filled the room for precious seconds. Seconds that let Dean know just how late he'd been. If Castiel was by any means...all right...he would have teleported them to safety. His baby was every bit as broken as he looked. Where sadness usually would have been was overrun with anger as well.  
The girl was the one who spoke up, her voice venom, “What of all the innocent lives you've taken because of the Mark? You must atone with your life in offering for the innocent blood you've spilled. Surrender, and we will show you mercy.”  
Dean's body jolted as his eyes flashed black for the briefest of moments, “Taking innocent lives has never been my endgame,” he whispered. “You take more innocent lives by the day than I have in my entire life. I will not apologize to you for a damn thing I've done.”  
“Mercy is not easily given, think about your words?”  
“Mercy?” He growled, “Like you showed him mercy? No thanks.” Dean lunged forward, stabbing one of the onslaught through the heart, not with the angel blade, but with Cain's blade- the First Blade.  
The cluster of angels separated, hissing at the sight of the weapon, which caused a rather sadistic smile to curve Dean's lips, both from this reaction, and the satisfaction of the weapon being back in his grasp, “Oh, this old thing? Yeah. It can be a real bitch.” Without so much as a troubled thought, Dean grabbed another angel, and slit its throat, watching blood pool, listening to the heart stop. The blade was happy. It wanted him to keep going. And he wanted to keep going...until they were all dead and heaven was but a bad memory.  
/“Is that my shirt?” Dean asked, his eyebrow raised as Castiel emerged from the bathroom. Cas blushed, looking down, “It smells like you.”  
Dean’s heart jumped in his chest, before he smiled, sitting up in bed and opening his arms, “You make a sexy Zeppelin fan. Come here, baby.”  
He tackled him, wrapping his arms around him. “I missed you.”  
He felt the stubble of Castiel’s face brush against his cheek as he kissed it in passing, and his ear, before he whispered to his angel, “I love you,” pulling back to kiss his lips tenderly./  
A memory. Dean tried desperately to think of a happy memory...to think of those he would disappoint should such an event happen....  
The desire for blood had started to outweigh them all.  
Dean's arm shook with the blade in his hand. He wanted to put it down. Needed to put it down. They just wouldn't shut up.  
“What about your transgressions, Dean? I could name them, but wouldn't want you to stain your name. You know you're dangerous, Dean Winchester. A monster. You need to be put down.”  
“No,” Dean shook, again, talking to himself more than these self-righteous bastards, “I am dangerous. But not to him. Not to them,” he spoke of humanity, “You're only noticing because it interferes with what your boss wants, right? Hannah,” he spat, causing the angels to bustle. “He didn't hide it from me. Not for long at least. He /is/ mine, you inferior wretches. I've been 'dangerous' since I was a kid. And what can I say? Sammy knows I don't like to share. So Hannah can learn that lesson too, and go fuck herself. She'll have to kill me first. And then she'll have to kill him. And then what do you people stand for—a legacy of nothing but your own bullshit lies about your attempts to save humanity? You can't even save your own.”  
Two of the angels got brave, charging at Dean with their blades- trying to flank him, one from front, one behind. “I'd let us walk away,” Dean called, “This won't end well.”  
His arm shot out as the angel from behind got too close to Castiel, and Dean lashed out at each angel simultaneously. The angel blade pierced the first, killing him instantly. The first blade shook against the other's neck as he choked 'mercy'.  
It only took one look at his beloved angel, crumpled in a heap at his feet, to let the First Blade do its work. The angel clutched onto Dean's wrist as the blade pierced its throat and it began to choke on its own blood. Dean let him crumple, kicking him away from Castiel, “There is no mercy for what you've done to him.”  
Another leader spoke from the doorway, bigger, bulkier than the rest, “We will show you no mercy, Dean Winchester...for you, or for the betrayer Castiel.”  
The girl spoke, “You are an abomination in the eyes of God. Forbidden just like the fruit in the garden.”  
Dean's eyes went black, “Where is your God?”  
He knew none of them would have an answer. But three more filed in to attack with their weaponry. Dean was bored. He could have yawned. Heaven needed to throw more at him. Two angels here, three there...it was too easy.  
“You will both atone for your sins. It is meant to be so.”  
“Let me tell you something,” Dean said, fighting off an angel with an axe, as he imploded with the angel blade, “About your God!” he dodged a whip lash, pushing Castiel again out of harm's way, “Cas was the ONLY one who didn't betray your God. When you wretches were fighting to sit on your false throne, he was looking. He never gave up. He is good, and he is light. And you are no better than me, only difference is-” he kicked one of the angels down, stabbing him in the gut with the first blade. The mark throbbed. He was pain. He wouldn't be able to stop, “-I wouldn't be so stupid to preach about sins when yours are far more damnable.”  
More angels were rushing in. A good fight. But he wouldn't be stopped. The blade only knew how to kill, and he was at its mercy with each sin he committed.  
The group managed to get the upper hand for a moment- two angel blades- one in his ribs, one in his shoulder as his legs were swept out from beneath him, and the bulky angel began issuing orders, “Put him in chains- make him atone.”  
It was a short-lived victory as Dean pulled the blade from his shoulder, growling and hissing like some feral animal, and stabbing the nearest angel through the neck with it, using the other hand to swipe at a second with the First Blade. He began to laugh. His darkness felt natural, comforting. “Keep trying.” His blood fell to the floor in droplets, joining the puddles of angel's blood. His gaze shot to Castiel on the floor, and his heart sank into his stomach.  
His beloved lay there on the floor, nearly dead, and still he was selfish enough that the little humanity in him prayed to Castiel internally, begging him to come to, to save them....to allow Dean to keep what little humanity was left in him.  
/I'm yours,/ Dean panted in the back seat of the Impala, /Oh God, Castiel, Cas...baby...I'm yours....I'm yours..../  
Being his wasn't enough. It wouldn't save either of them. And it was his own fault. That little human who still believed there could be happy endings and good things after every goddamn thing in the world had told him different.  
His heart died when he realized that trying to salvage his humanity in that second had made him careless. He felt his nose snap out of place, but he didn't seem concerned about that, because his eyes darted to where Castiel had lay...where now was just a pool of blood and black shoes.  
The broad angel had grabbed Castiel's unconscious form and lifted him off the ground by his throat. Dean could hear his own heart beating much too quickly in his chest. An angel blade rest at the heart of his love. “Surrender to us,” the bastard instructed, “And we may show him mercy. If you do not, we will not hesitate to kill him.  
Dean's beautiful green eyes disappeared in that moment, and everything went black.  
When Dean regained consciousness- he could only smell blood. He opened his eyes and found Castiel breathing shallowly, cradled in his arms. He looked around the room. There was blood everywhere, various limbs, torn flesh, and shadows of wings that had once belonged to angels. Dean had assaulted heaven, turning it upside down into utter hell until only the two of them remained. The two of them and....  
“Oh, I do hope he wakes up,” a voice came from the doorway. Dean looked up to see Hannah kick the First Blade within Dean's grasp as his body immediately reacted, his fingers twitching to touch it. “I want him to look into your eyes when you kill him,” she smiled, closing the door, and locking it behind her as she stood there, waiting.  
“This is what I meant,” Dean growled at her, “You don't understand love. You never loved him.”  
“I did love him,” she replied casually, “But seeing him choose you, be WITH you, a demon. It sickens me. You've destroyed the real Castiel, now the least you can do is put him out of his misery.”  
“I loved him before this. Before his fall. When he looked upon that hell-wrought world and saw people worth saving. When he fought for what was right instead of what was easy. I loved him when your lot cast him down, and he told me that I was worth saving. I love him now even as he's dying in my arms, and I will love him after I destroy you and take him home. Now if you ever, in your time on my world, felt a goddamn bit of the love that Cas is capable of feeling, you will fix him so help me God.”  
Hannah smiled a small smile, “There's no fixing what's fallen so far from grace.”  
Dean closed his eyes to hide the black, “You fucking bitch,” he muttered, “You can heal him! You can save him!”  
“There is no saving whatever is left of this...thing. He's not Castiel anymore....he's just...” she cringed, trying to think of a word foul enough.  
“A Winchester. He's a goddamned Winchester. He's family. He's mine. My loved one,” Dean glared at the bar with eyes dark as death, “And if you abandon him in this room, in this state, with me....I won't need the first blade to kill you. I WILL hunt you down, and I will make what you did to him look like the pearly fucking gates of heaven.”


End file.
